Demon Barber Mihael Keehl
by yesterdayGoneAgain
Summary: After being locked away for 15 years under Kira's ruling, Mihael Keehl is guided back to London where he'll take his revenge, but he won't be doing it alone.


A heavy step fell on the wooden planks of the dock. Blue eyes drained from naivety flickered with a steady burning flame as he observed the drab environment. His eyes lowered, slowly turning around as he felt a heavy bag drop behind him, followed by a light hop.

"Here we are then," the albino spoke as he proceeded to sling his bag over his shoulder. "Home again. No other home, no other place ─"

"No other place like London," the blond interrupted in a muttered. He felt his feathery coat lightly tickle his cheek as a gentle breeze blew by. There was a somber tone to his voice as his pace quickened, only to be hastily followed behind.

"Mello," he said as he adjusted the bag on his back. "Mello?" he repeated. He didn't get a response right away, instead it was met with silence. It pressed on long enough that he didn't expect a response anymore… until he did.

"Life has been kind to you. But you'll soon learn…" his words trailed off as he came to an intersection. "This is where we part ways." He spared merely a glance towards the other. "I say my farewells, Nate. If you are to find me, Fleet Street is where I will be. May fate, or a God above, bring us together again." He shoved both of his hands into his pocket, almost prancing off down the stone path.

"Oh - But Mello, if trouble lies before you in London ─ or if you need anything, food, money ─"

"No!" He heard that distant shout. The man frowned at the rude decline, but he supposed if he ever needed Mello, he'll go to him for help.

『 . . . 』

The familiar building the blonde sought was run down and dreary, with unappealing letters stamped on the front in bold, capitalized letters that said " **MISTER JEEVAS' MEAT PIES** ". From the look of the place, he can only guess that this business isn't holding up very well. In fact, just taking a look around, no being acknowledged the place being there at all.

"Consider this to be his lucky day," he murmured as he approached the door. A prolonged creak of the wooden door alarmed him but quickly forgotten as he was immediately being greeted with rhythmic chopping of a knife on a cutting board. The man he saw was too lost in his own head to even notice, and for a split second Mello considered bailing.

His head lazily tilted upwards from the cutting board, a bright spark in his eyes that internally startled him

"Oh fuck, a customer." The man stabbed the tip of his knife into the board, scurrying around the counter to approach Mello. "Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry?" He brushed off the feathers of his coat, setting his hands on his shoulders and guiding the blond over to the side. "You gave me such a fright I thought you was a ghost!"

He was sure he was brought speechless by this burst of energy the redhead suddenly exhaled. A twisted expression of confusion took over his face. He spoke fast, almost too fast to keep up.

"Half a minute, can't ya sit? Seat ya down," he exclaimed as he patted Mello's shoulders. "Sit!" and he complied. "All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks."

He noticed the cockney accent that Jeevas didn't intend on hiding. His brows furrowed as he watched him go behind the counter once more, swiftly pulling the knife out of the cutting board.

"Did ya come here for a pie, sir? Do forgive me if me head's a little vague." He set the knife down beside the board. Even he looked confused as to what he was doing, what he was running this business for, but that quickly washed away as he pinched an insect between his fingers, then dropping it on the floor. "What was that?" he muttered as he stomped on it before continuing on. "But you'd think we'd have the plague from the way that people keep avoiding-" He quickly interrupted himself as he looked down at the mess of sprinkled flour, smacking his hand down. "No you don't," another mutter. The redhead looked back up to Mello. "Heaven knows I try, sir!" He reached over to grab a stale looking pie.

Mello can't wonder if he really, honestly does try. Though he can't help but debunk that thought with the way Jeevas' brain is scattered, dividing his attention with at least three things at once ─ too much for someone to keep up.

"But there's no one that comes in even to inhale," he said exasperatedly as he dropped the pie down onto a plate, blowing whatever gathered up dust the pie may have been building up. "Right you are sir, would you like a drop of ale?" He came right over and slid the plate in front of him, quickly moving back to his station as he did. "Mind you I can hardly blame them."

His eyes shifted down to the pie… or at least what use to be one. He was turned off by the growing mould, evident in the gross green the surface presented. He pulled the plate in closer.

"These are probably the worst pies in London." Mello heard as he gently prodded the pie around the plate. "I know why nobody cares to take them, I should know, I make 'em, but good? No… the worst pies in London."

Jeevas took a handful of flour and spread them over the already floured surface and sighed. "Even that's polite! The worst pies in London!"

Mello's eyes shifted up towards him as he took the pie in his hand, watching a spoonful of pure gloop fill the mold.

"If you doubt it take a bite!"

And so he did. It was a small bite of the crust, but it made him stop and regret all of his choices of even coming out to London in the first place. He refused to spit it out while he was watching though, and decided to wait.

"Is that just disgusting? You have to concede it." Jeevas took a cup and dumped out whatever was in it before, turning his back on him to refill the cup.

His head slowly turned to the side and spat it out.

"It's nothing but crusting. Here drink this, you'll need it." He approached the blond once again as he put the pie down back on the plate just as the cup was handed over to him. "The worst pies in London," he heard him repeat again, more quietly and dissatisfied than last time. But he found that the redhead returned behind the counter, taking a ball of dough and slamming it down. The impact dusted flour everywhere.

"And no wonder with the price of meat, what it is, when you get it." He pushed down the dough with the palm of his hands. There was this new found determination that frankly, came out of nowhere. "Never thought I'd live to see the day, men'd think it was a treat findin' poor animals what are dyin' in the streets."

Mello gulped down the ale, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brows at Jeevas as he grabbed a rolling pin by one end.

"Mrs. Amane has a pie shop." He smacked the dough with the other end of the rolling pin. This time, Mello raised his eyebrow. This was definitely one way to handle dough…

"Does a business but I notice something weird." He continued to smack the dough, though expectedly, the dough wasn't expanding in surface area. "Lately all her neighbors cats have disappeared. Have to hand it to her!" His tone got more aggressive along with the abuse of the dough, Mello opened his mouth a tad to try and interfere.

"What I calls enterprise! Poppin' pussies into pies!" He didn't notice that the blond wanted to speak at all, so he gave up quickly. "Wouldn't do in my shop." He shook his head, quickly glancing up at his only customer before looking back down and finally resorted to using the rolling pin properly. "Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick, and I'm telling you them pussycats is quick."

His exasperated tone came back to him, having to pause a minute. "No denying times is hard, sir… Even harder than the worst pies in London." He nearly cracked a smile at his own joke, but Mello didn't notice with the huge cockroach scuttling out of his bitten pie.

He decides to take another gulp of his ale.

"Only lard and nothing more," he continued, lifting up the dough with his rolling pin and spreading it across a premade pie mold. "Is that just revolting? All greasy and gritty?" He took a brush that's been soaked in egg wash and spread it excessively throughout the top. "It looks like it's molting. And tastes like…"

There was a pause just as he exhaled heavily. "Well, pity," he muttered as he lifted up his tray of unbaked pies and sauntered towards the oven. "A man all alone… with limited wind. The worst pies in London!" He exclaimed and shut the oven door. He rested himself against the counter, reaching into his pockets to take out a cigarette and lighter. "Ah, sir… times is hard…" He held the cigarette between his teeth and lit up the end.

Mello quietly spat some of the ale out, looking back into his cup. Disgusting… and revolting. Just like the pies. He didn't know a place could hit such rock bottom, but it looks like he now knows.

"Believe me brother, it's gonna take a lot more than ale to take that taste out of your mouth," he spoke with the cigarette in his mouth. He pocketed his lighter before taking it out, blowing an abstract figure of smoke into the ceiling. "C'mon, some real gin will do the trick."

He pushed himself up from the counter, motioning a hand for Mello to follow, only briefly checking behind him to make sure he was at least out of those uncomfortable seats.


End file.
